A couple of sites worth checking out

Feeling undervalued as a writer trying to make a buck? So is the Craigslist Curmudgeon. This site basically exists to make fun of all the ridiculous ads people post for writers on Craigslist. Funnier than you'd think: http://craigslistcurmudgeon.blogspot.com/ Many of you know that the real reason I relocated to Ann Arbor was because they were opening an Ikea in Canton, a mere 20 miles away. I just love Ikea. Nothing like mass-produced, cheapo yet slick-lookin' goods you can tote home flat in your car. LOVE it! Anyhoo, I recently stumbled upon a cool site called Ikea Hacker where people share their ideas for using Ikea products as a starting point then "hacking" them to make them their own. Some cool ideas, most of which I would never actually get around to doing, but I applaud other peoples' creativity even as I indulge my own laziness: http://ikeahacker.blogspot.com/

If you live in Ann Arbor or you just like reading, writing, cooking and/or knitting, then you should check out a local blog called Four Obsessions. It's one of those rare finds - an interesting and well-written personal blog (unlike this one, you might say) that touches on a lot of my passions. Great combo of knitting tales, book reviews and even recipes for dishes so lovely it almost makes me think about cooking. Almost: http://4obsessions.blogspot.com/index.html

The Audacity of Hope

I've had a few days to mull it over now. Last Wednesday, I got an email from the University of Michigan MFA Program telling me that while I am amazing and fantastic and terrific, I wasn't quite amazing and fantastic and terrific enough to be admitted to their highly competitive program. But...

I am amazing and fantastic and terrific enough to be wait-listed.

Remember that episode of Friends where Rachel thought she might be pregnant and she peed on the stick but she couldn't look at it, so Phoebe looked at it and told her she wasn't pregnant and Rachel was all disappointed -- only Phoebe lied and Rachel WAS pregnant but Phoebe said this way she knew how she really felt?

Yeah, I never really understood that logic, either. Only, I think I might feel a bit like that. Like, how I've talked a lot over the past six months about how my hopes aren't really pegged on getting into the MFA program and I think I meant it until I found out I didn't get in and then when my heart pounded uncontrollably and the tears rolled forward, then I discovered that I really did want the baby after all.

You know what I mean.

So I cried for a couple of hours. Or days. Who's counting? Until I spoke with a couple of friends in academia who surprised me by telling me that being placed on the waiting list is a good thing. It's a little ray of hope. But hope, sometimes, is annoying, especially when your heart is pounding and your stomach aches and you just want to know whether or not you'll spend the next two years in school trying to become a better writer and a better writing teacher or lying on the couch eating bon-bons and waiting for Richard Simmons to have you air-lifted from your home for an intervention.

The way it works is this -- they offer spots to their preferred candidates. If any of those candidates choose to go to another school, then they offer the spot to, hypothetically, the next person on the wait-list. Equally hypothetically, if a good half of the people who were offered spots were to die mysterious and untraceable deaths, a whole lot of us on the wait-list would get in.

I'm just saying.

So...I've spent the past week ricocheting between feeling hope and disappointment, trying to deliver myself to a place of acceptance no matter what the outcome. Which is big talk. But I think I might be there.

A few days before I got the letter, I was pulling into a parking lot when the thought hit me like a ton of bricks: You haven't written fiction in 15 years and you just applied, out of the blue, to one of the top fiction MFA programs in the country. That is, depending on how you like to look at these things, incredibly audacious, ballsy and/or deluded.

It will only make sense to the writers out there when I say that the reason I haven't tackled fiction in so long is because it matters so much to me. My mother assured me that I'd never make a living as a fiction writer and the rest of my fears were only too happy to comply. Other types of writing came to me far more easily and mattered far less. It seemed to make sense.

This is what it means to be on the wait-list, I think: It means that I should keep trying. It means that I might be good enough to keep working at this. It means that I show promise. And that's something I've never felt confident about when it comes to writing fiction.

So I still don't know what will happen. By April 15, everyone offered an MFA spot at Michigan will have had to give their answer, so I'll know if my flutter of hope pans out. In the meantime, I'll keep teaching the fiction workshop at 826 Michigan. I've signed up for a July week-long short story workshop at the University of Iowa Summer Writing Festival and I've applied to the fancy-pants Bread Loaf Writers Conference in Vermont for August.

I am, as some might say, just gonna keep truckin'.

My favorite quotes of the week

"Here's an inconvenient truth, Al: cake is not a food group." - John Stewart in reference to Gore's girth at the Oscars. "Honey, it's not an iPod, it's a wePod." - Chris when I asked to borrow his iPod.

"The manatee becomes the mento." - Tracy Jordan on 30 Rock. Tough to explain if you didn't see, but his character was trying to say that the mentee had become the mentor...

Download this: Wintery Mix

I awoke today to the threat (promise?) of a wintery mix which is not, unfortunately, a kicky compilation of seasonal dance hits. Rather, it referred to the snow/sleet/rain that was drifting down, sideways, when I got up. But now it's stopped coming down, whatever it was, leaving behind only a nominal non-dangerous dusting on the ground and a dull, oppressive grey sky. I keep forgetting that this is the time when things slow down. February, in all its dullness, seems to go on forever. Much like this cold, which Chris and I and the rest of the world seem to be pushing back and forth. It seems I don't quite know if I'll wake up clear-headed and with energy to accomplish much or stupped up and snupply and feeling as though I've valium-laced gelatin coursing through my veins.

Today falls in the latter category. So while I should be working on the many projects in my lap right now, I'm wedged into a corner of our giant, comfy couch, covered in the soft fuzzy blankie my sweet nieces gave me for my birthday. I'm trying to be remotely productive, on a level that my stuffy head can handle. So I'm trying to clear up space on my laptop hard drive.

I'm also in the process of converting a bunch of our CDs to digital files. Now that Chris has an iPod with a 30 gig hard drive, we're trying to pare down our CD collection by getting rid of those that only hold a handful of songs we like. It's slow-going and, although I'm fairly tech-savvy, I'm still dazzled by the idea that this lovely little piece of metal that fits in my hand can hold up to 7,500 songs.

While I've claimed in previous posts to be a consumer through-and-through -- and I am, just ask the folks at Target -- I do have a conflicted conscience when it comes to acquiring stuff. I mean, I love to spend unnecessary money on bath salts and fun shampoos, but I worry about the sheer volume of stuff we owned. Not things that we will use, but things that are just taking up space in our lives.

I felt a ping of that when I bought Chris the iPod, feeling as though I was selling out in a way, to the constant iPod advertising and the marketing message that nothing else will do. The thing is, I did extensive research before buying the iPod, even hopefully looking into other brands, but the evidence seems to suggest -- at least at this point in time -- that nothing else will do. I just couldn't get the same heritage of quality and functionality from any other brand.

And now I think the thing is genius. It's not my first MP3 player -- I have a small one that's more convenient for the gym, where it doesn't matter if it only holds a couple hours of tunes. (Sorry, just had to pause and laugh at the idea that I would EVER be in the gym for anything close to a couple of hours.) But this little machine, the video iPod -- which has much, much more storage than the Nano and Shuffle music models -- is essentially a portable hard drive.

What I'm getting at, clearly very slowly, is that by acquiring this one thing, we're going to be able to get rid of a whole bunch of CDs that are just taking up space in our house. So this acquisition sort of karmically evens out, at least in my little mind.

Which is, I think, kinda cool.

The Walls Did Not Collapse

It's been two weeks, but I finally made it back to the YMCA yesterday for an extremely gentle workout. Not because I am still ailing (I'm not) but because I'm so friggin' out of shape the equipment looked at me and giggled.

I would love to be one of those people who is naturally athletically gifted. I'm married to a man who runs marathons. On purpose. Perhaps it's a genetic thing. I don't hail from athletic stock. Historically, my people were inside baking (and, more often, eating) while others were out moving around. In fact, I'd throw in the towel on this whole exercise thing were it not for the related life-expectancy thing and, frankly, the fact that I feel like a whole 'nother person when I'm being even moderately active.

And the only reason I'm even writing about this here is on the off-chance that it gives me a little accountability for being more active and so that next time you see me and say, "How's the Y?" I don't haul off and slug you.

And all I got was this lousy cold!

Yesterday was the birthday of one Chris Carey, to whom I happen to be married. As said wife, it fell to me to make it a special day. This is a challenge for two reasons. One, as many of you well know, he is the best spoiler on birthdays. He spends way too much money and puts a ridiculous amount of thought into his gifts. It's hard not to feel like the most loved person on earth on your birthday, even if, like me, you have a heart of stone. I would highly recommend being married to him. Except you can't, because I am. Reason two is even more tricky -- the man never wants anything. If you ask me what I want for my birthday, I could whip out a file folder of Material Goods I Must Acquire, arranged by categories, level of desire, color and scent. I am a consumer through and through. There is ALWAYS something that I want, a thing to be acquired that will no doubt make my life better, bring me more happiness, make me thinner and prettier.

Conversely, my husband wants nothing. I ask him every year, "What would you like for your birthday?" He thinks long and hard about this before saying, completely seriously, "Really, there's nothing I can think of. I already have everything I need." I can't begin to express how humbling and annoying this is. Because he MEANS it.

This year, I caught him a little off guard with a couple of surprises for his big day. After a morning spent snuggling in bed, sipping coffee, eating the last of the Valentine's Day chocolates and playing computer games on the laptop, I surprised him with tickets to yesterday afternoon's Michigan-IU basketball game. (IU's his alma mater.)

Since he's been suffering from a cold, Chris actually took a little nap beforehand and then we headed off to the game, which was our first visit to Crisler Arena. It's a pretty compact space, which means that even though I couldn't get great seats, the ones we had were pretty darn good. Originally, we were supposed to be in Austin for his birthday weekend and I was going to celebrate his big day by letting him run the Austin Marathon. But we scrapped that plan a couple of weekends ago and so I was too late to get good seats to the game. That said, I would like to know who all you people are with the good seats who don't bother to turn up for the games. That's just rude!

It was a pretty good game, too. Michigan started out with a sizable lead for the first half and then by the last 10 minutes, it was a close game, with Michigan winning by an inch in the end. It was kind of cool, too, to root for both teams. It seems only polite to root for the Wolverines since we live here but I've been pro-IU since my sister went there for college. As Chris "The Nicest Man on Earth" Carey put it, we were cheering for "good basketball." Word.

After the game, I had Chris scheduled for a 7pm massage but we got out of the parking lot a lot faster than I thought so I managed to kill some time without his suspicion with a drive-through of some of the streets around our neighborhood. We've had some good snow the past few days -- nothing major, but enough to keep a fresh dusting on the streets and make all the little bungalows glow warmly. We have great fantasies about actually being able to afford a house here, so it was quite nice to drive around a bit.

He was completely surprised by the massage part and it turned out to be a good thing I got him in there. While I'm a firm believer in bodywork, Chris has only had a couple of massages in his lengthy, lengthy life. When I picked him up, the massage therapist told me how tense and stressed Chris' muscles are, so I'm hoping I can get him back there more regularly. And they didn't even get to work on his legs and runner's legs are notoriously tight.

We had 8:30 dinner reservations at Kerrytown restaurant Eve. We had a really lovely dinner there on our anniversary this year, but we weren't as wild about our first weekend-night visit. The restaurant has no real waiting area, so we found ourselves crammed inside a tiny entryway with four other couples. The hostess was largely absent and largely inattentive. (Turns out she was also delivering drinks and setting tables inside.) All of the couples waiting had 8:30 reservations and the first of us was seated at 8:50, without a word of apology. Not good, people.

Our service, however, was pretty good for the most part. The menu changes seasonally and we weren't as bowled over by the options for winter as we had been for the summer, but I still had some nice lamb (although its lavender and garlic seasoning and delicate flavor were overwhelmed by a too-rich mustard cream sauce) and Chris enjoyed the scallops (although, again, the less-than-subtle coconut flavoring to the accompnying rice overwhelmed). It's a nice space and I enjoy being there but I do wish restaurants would forego the (understandable) desire to fit as many tables in as possible for a little old-fasioned elbow room. I hate having to worry about shoving my rear in my neighbor's face when I get up to go to the rest room.

We came home and I put Chris in an epsom salt bath to help ease his tender muscles and then we did presents and enjoyed some birthday pastries from the Eastern Accents bakery on Fourth Street. Our friend Birgit had raved about the mango cream cake she got there and, since mango is the birthday boy's favorite fruit, I picked up a slice of that and some other fun goodies.

While we sampled the sweets, Chris opened his presents. As I said, he never really wants much of anything, so there were some little bits of this 'n that. But his real present was an iPod. Yes, we're finally moving into the 21st century people. This one should let us transfer nearly our entire CD collection onto it and maybe put our CDs into storage or get rid of the ones we only like a couple songs from anyway. And maybe even end the constant CD clutter in the car. Maybe.

The day was pretty cool, all in all. I finally got to experience what Chris does when he blows me away with his thoughtfulness. It's a terrific experience to spoil your loved one rotten and to really make them feel special. Love those experiences that are selfishly rewarding!

In return for my many, many incredible and amazing efforts, I woke up this morning with the same rotten cold that plagued the hubby for a couple of days. Some thanks, eh? Sigh. It's hard to feel appreciated when you're as fantastic as I am.

 

The difference a year makes

It's not often that I know precisely where I was one year ago, but this time last year I was boarding a plane with the rest of the Knight-Wallace crew to head to Istanbul. It's incredible to think that it was only a year ago and, also, how much has changed since then. At that time, we were excited about our trip but filled with a nagging sense of melancholy, knowing that the last couple months of the fellowship were awaiting us upon our return. We would be packing up our stuff and returning to our life in St. Louis. Chris would return to the Post-Dispatch and I would return to doing freelance work.

Either the day before the trip or the afternoon we left -- that part is a little fuzzy -- Chris had received a positive response from Mark Cuban to his shot-in-the-dark email trying to gauge Cuban's interest in an investigative reporting website.

And everything changed. Our life today looks nothing like we thought it would a year and a day ago. Cuban went on to partner with Chris and fund what is now www.sharesleuth.com, meaning Chris essentially has a dream job where he is his own boss and gets to spend all his time investigating white collar crime, his passion.

I took a short fiction workshop after we returned from Istanbul and when the teacher, Valerie Laken, encouraged me to apply to U-M's MFA program in creative writing, I did. Despite the fact that I hadn't written fiction in nearly 15 years.

Somewhere in there, we made the decision to embark on this new life together here in Ann Arbor. Although I remember discussing it, it wasn't so much a decision as it felt like following a clear path. I still can't explain it, but we both felt right being here -- and that's coming from two people who love St. Louis dearly and hadn't planned on relocating.

So now, here we are. The new year of Fellows have just arrived in Istanbul. Chris is working away on his next big story and working on some plans to expand Sharesleuth. I'm editing the Knight-Wallace newsletter and tackling a few freelance projects while I wait for mid-March to hear about my MFA application.

Our life looks nothing like we expected it to 364 days ago. I'm just sayin'.

Single British Female, or, Random Thoughts on Recent Things

1. Notes on a Scandal I was mightly excited to finally get to see this film this past weekend but wound up a bit disappointed. Not that Dame Judi Dench doesn't give a delicious performance -- for which she has rightfully received an Oscar nomination. In fact, you can almost see that joy an actor must feel at having such a juicy, evil role to play. And I really, really wanted to like this movie more than I did. It's a dark and eerie tale of deception and friendship and sin and emotional blackmail that's incredibly well done and well-acted. But I thought it devolved into a sort of Single British Female soap opera by the end of things, seizing on the worst stereotypes about women in general (and lesbians in particular). Plus, the entire plot turned on a completely inexplicable device -- an all-too-conveniently crumpled piece of paper Cate Blanchett's character just happens to come across in a trash can. There's no explanation or reason that it should have been there and seemed so implausible that all three of us who saw it together were pulled out of the movie in one of those "wait...seriously?" moments. Not a bad movie but I wasn't as wild about it as the critics were.

2. Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

Okay, so I'm about a year behind in jumping on the bandwagon o' praise for this Jonathan Safran Foer oeuvre but what can I say? I'm only now getting back into novels after reading mostly screenplays and short stories the past year. It's a terrifically moving book revolving around 9-year-old Oskar Schell's search for meaning in his life after the death of his father, who was at a meeting in the World Trade Center the morning of September 11, 2001. Oskar is a compelling and heartbreaking narrator and although the book got a tad trying at points when switching narration to Oskar's grandfather and grandmother, I thought the times I got to spend inside the nine-year-old's amazing little mind were really great. He's one of those characters with such a balance of "realness" and quirkiness that you develop a deep and abiding affection for him. I'm not sure how many other authors could tackle the delicate subject of 9-11 with such grace and humor and unique perspective.

3. Conversations with Other Women

I rented this movie from Netflix over the weekend and while it didn't impress many critics, I have to say I loved it. It's the story of a man and a woman who meet at a wedding reception and while they initially appear not to know each other, their intimate past is slowly revealed through their flirtation. The director uses a split-screen effect throughout the movie and although I can see where people could find it a bit too much, I actually liked the way it served as a narrative device so that you could see both actors at the same time or, in some cases, see a visual expression of a character's conflicted emotions. It stars Helena Bonham Carter and Aaron Eckhart and I found both of them charming enough to make up for a general lack of plot. Not sure everyone would agree though. Don't think Chris found it nearly as intriguing as I did. I think it might be of particular interest to people who are fascinated with the way stories are told, the way perspective shifts the reality of events and the way people relate to each other.

4. The Year of Magical Thinking

I tried reading this book, by Joan Didion, last year and couldn't quite get into it. It's a memoir about the sudden death of her husband, writer John Gregory Dunne in 2003 from a sudden cardiac event -- just after her daughter lapsed into a coma following what seemed initially a routine bout of the flu. I don't think I would have been ready to read it a couple of years ago, but it's a brave and honest look at death, grief and the insanity of the way we think, the way our brains and our hearts process loss and the shift in reality.

You know, in case you were wondering.

February is a drag

Around this time every year, I swear I can feel the motivation draining out of me. Today's the epitome -- the sky is grey, it's too cold to go outside and walk around. I feel tired down to my bones. According to that one hedgehog, or whatever the hell he is, spring is around the corner. In the meantime, I'm trying to put a positive spin on this, the dullest month. Thus, I present to you a list of other things February is...

American Heart Month. This one's close to my you-know-what, so brush up on your

Library Lovers Month. Click here for tips on how to love your library. It's not dirty or anything.

National Hot Breakfast Month. If you're cooking, I'd like oatmeal or, perhaps, a nice frittata. With goat cheese, of course.

National Bird-Feeding Month. Naturally, feeding birds a nice, hot breakfast is good way to kill two...um...nevermind.

National "Shake Your Booty" Month. I can find no source for this claim other than Wikipedia, so I think we can pretty much deduce that it's not true. However, I think we should MAKE it true and right now, as you read this, just shake your booty. Even a little. Go on. Do it. No one's watching. There! Don't you feel better? I know I do.

International Boost Self Esteem Month. Whoever came up with this idea is a loser.

National African American History Month. If you didn't already know that part, you're not really paying attention.

Marijuana Awareness Month. I like this one 'cause it's home-grown.

National Cherry Pie Month. If any of you are celebrating this holiday, Chris would like to come over for dinner.

National Pet Dental Health Month. Just don't try to apply Crest White Strips to your cat.'s teeth Trust me.

National Time Management Month. Now's a good time to quit being late to stuff. Seriously. It bugs me.

Return Shopping Carts to the Supermarket Month. I have nothing to add.

Please observe accordingly.

Employee Motivation Tip #1,734

Make every Tuesday Pirate Tuesday!

 Aaaarrrr, mateys! I'm bein' right productive!

 

Make sure all departments feel included.

 

 Meee-ahrrrr!

They breed 'em meaner in Iowa

The best thing about being married? You get a whole 'nother family to love and support you. For example, this morning I got this thoughtful email from my dear mother-in-law Jean, in response to my last email about the weather here:

Sissy! Try -12 degrees with wind chill of -25!!!!!! A trip to the mailbox is numbing. This used to be routine weather for this time of year but no doubt global warming has changed things some.  We're not used to it anymore.  Sissies!! Love, Jean

Warms the heart, doesn't it? Hell. Now I can't even complain that it's one degree out. Jean's probably out sowing corn, tilling fields with a teaspoon and birthing a calf with her spare hand -- all in negative 50 degrees. In a t-shirt and sandals. Perspective's everything, eh?

(Love ya, Mama Jean!)

I forgot to wear red yesterday

Which is just as well, really, since I only left the house for about seven minutes, so even if I'd participated in yesterday's National Wear Red Day to raise awareness about heart disease in women, I would only have been spreading a message around a household already painfully aware. Part of me thinks it must be terribly tiresome for my readers to hear over and over again about my mother's death from heart disease. And the other part of me figures that until the issue heart disease in women has the same level of awareness and visibility of breast cancer then I'm going to keep belly-aching about it. To help me with that mission, here's a link to an article from today's CNN.com. It's not news, exactly. The headline reads, "Heart disease often misdiagnosed in women." That much I knew. Heart disease in general -- and heart attacks in particular -- present very differently in women than they do in men. So too often women -- and medical professionals -- fail to recognize what's going on. In addition, women often aren't taken as seriously as men with any medical complaint, whatever that's about.

 As a result, women are more likely than men to die from a heart attack. I don't know if my mother would be alive today if she'd known that the nausea, vomiting and pain in her back meant something terrible was happening with her heart. No one can say. But I do know I'm continually shocked by the lack of awareness people have about heart disease in women. So here are a few little facts to annoy you:

• Heart disease is the leading cause of death for women in the US, accounting for 32% of all deaths annually. It kills more women each year than breast cancer, lung cancer and ALL THE OTHER cancers combined.
• Women who smoke risk having a heart attack 19 years earlier than women who don't smoke.
• More women than men die of heart disease each year, yet women receive only:
  • 33% of angioplasties, stents and bypass surgeries
  • 28% of inplantable defibrillators and
  • 36% of open-heart surgeries
• Women comprise only 25% of participants in all heart-related research studies.

That last one kills me, if you'll pardon the poor turn of phrase. If women are dying more from this disease than men, why on EARTH are they such a small percent of the research study groups? I don't get it. I really just don't get it.

Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

It's eight. Eight! Degrees! And it's supposed to get colder. I guess this is the Michigan cold we managed to avoid last year during our trips to Argentina and Turkey. Even this afternoon, when it was a balmy 19, I went numb walking from the Y to our car a block away. My ears froze. My nose froze. My ears froze. I couldn't even feel my emotions. (Except self-pity...that one was clearly intact.)

Still, I'll take it. I'll take it over weeks of 100 degree summer weather with thick humidity. I'll accept that thermal underwear is a fact of daily dressing and that I need to wear thick sweaters even in the house. I'll accept that the tea kettle's working overtime and that everything sounds better in soup form. I'll accept that even the logs have to defrost before they'll light up in the fireplace.

Cold like this is the reason socks go on sale, the reason I stockpile wooly yarn from which to knit extra caps and scarves. It's the reason we subscribe to so many magazines to curl up and read, the reason they make so many flavors of herbal tea and the reason, thank God, that fleece was invented. It might even be the reason kitties were invented, so you could tuck your toes under them when they curl up at the bottom of your bed.

Just check with me again after Sunday, when we hit the negative digits without benefit of wind chill!

Missing Molly Ivins

I've received a strange number of emails over the past 48 hours about deaths, none of them people I knew directly, but affecting people I know. So my heart was prepped for being heavy when I read the news that Molly Ivins has passed away. There's so much I admired about Ivins, as a woman, a wit, a writer. For wearing the label of "liberal" proudly. For being a terrific smart ass and a thoughtful, fearless, outspoken critic of Bush and a zillion other right wing knuckleheads.

I remember when I first discovered her, my freshman year in college. I was writing a paper for my Law & the Media class. I had to defend flag-burning and I came across a great quote by Ivins. She pointed out that George Bush had recently had a birthday cake decorated like the US flag. "Think about where that flag ended up," she wrote. "Now that's desecration."

Until I encountered Ivins, I had no idea that in this world a woman could be fearless, ballsy, fiercely intelligent, unapologetically and unwaveringly left-wing and successful. What a role model to have when you're trying to find your way in the world.

I'm not sure the world can afford to be short one such brave and, often, hilarious voice. I'm feeling gravity's pull a little stronger tonight.

Pahk your cah in Hahvahd Yahd

Here's another distraction for your very busy day. It's a website that, based on the result of a handful of questions, purports to be able to tell you what kind of American accent you have. I've always thought mine was a pretty generic accent, since I've lived in a fair number of different US cities since coming here from Scotland, the majority of them in the Midwest. It was interesting to note, however, that the results said mine is a Boston accent. Interesting, I think, because Boston was the first city we lived in when we moved from the UK. I suppose it makes sense that my root American accent -- which I confess to trying to acquire deliberately -- would be that one. Or maybe it's a load of malarky.

I know my accent is somewhat flexible. When I'm in Scotland or speaking to my Gran on the phone, it slips back in there. Even when I talk to my Dad on the phone, my accent's probably different. It's kind of funny when my family gets together for Christmas. My Dad has a Scottish accent (removed 30 years), my older brother has a sort of hybrid British accent, my sister has hints of Indiana (money comes in DAH-llers) and my younger brother has some distinct Louisville (the number after four is fahve). It's like a little UN!

Either way, what's yours? Try it at http://gotoquiz.com/what_american_accent_do_you_have

It's bollocking!

A mere 18 degrees this morning. And it's absolutely fine with me. Helps me believe that maybe the world won't end in a horrible ecological disaster quite as soon as I'd feared. It's winter. It's supposed to be cold. We're under a winter storm advisory, which doesn't seem to mean much of anything. There's some frozen substance falling from the sky but I'm not sure how much damage it'll do. We've had an inch or so of snow on the ground for a few days now and I must say, I like the way it looks. Of course it helps that I'm able to curl up on the couch in my pajamas, a warm blanky over me and do my work without ever setting foot outside - although I will have to go out eventually, I suppose. We live four or so blocks from the YMCA and yesterday - when the wind chill made it "feel" 9 degrees out - I nearly froze my face off walking there. That said, our Y is brand-spankin' new and they have these big windows on the cardio floor and on one side of the track that let you gaze out upon Ann Arbor and when the snow is coming down in big, fluffy flakes as it did a few days ago, it's awfully pretty to watch while you get your heart rate up.

Speaking of the Y, I think I'm probably going to quit Curves this week. Since we joined the former, I've been only once or twice to the latter. The Y is closer and less routine to me at this point than Curves and it helps immensely that Chris and I usually go to work out at the same time, so I've extra motivation. Not that I'm slaggin' Curves. I think it's a fantastic idea for a lot of people and it was great for getting me back to exercising regularly. I just think maybe it's served its purpose for me right now and I probably don't need to be paying two gym memberships a month.

I'm not sure I'll make it to any of my many gyms today, though. I'm pretty low energy, as the cats organized a parade this morning. It started at about 5:30 and the route, apparently, consisted of my head and Chris' groin. I don't know what's up with them. Allie was recently diagnosed with diabetes, so we have to give him insulin shots two times a day which, even for someone who liked medical experiments as much as I do, isn't that much fun.

In addition, the vet has switched him to a new kind of soft food which he likes more than his old food. Which I didn't think was actually possible. It's hard to explain to a cat why he can't eat every 15 minutes. Especially when you're busy stuffing your own face with a handful of potato chips. You should see the looks of disgust he gives me. How do cats even know what hypocrisy is?

And Punkin' (I Didn't Name Her) Kitty also got switched to this new kind of lower-carb food which she enjoys well enough, but only in small portions. Of course, we can't leave the bowl down or Allie will scarf it all up. So this becomes a delicately coordinated dance of feed-n-distract, feed-n-distract. It's exhausting and, apparently, depriving me of much-needed beauty-and-serenity sleep.

It'd be much easier if we just killed cats as they got older.

KIDDING! Sort of.

Jesus. I've actually become a person who writes on her blog about her cats. Clearly, if anyone needs to be killed, it's me. Just promise that if I ever blog AS one of my cats, you'll take me to the nearest vet and put me out of my misery.

To Vongo or not to Vongo

For those of us who can't get local television reception (tough to get a good signal from Detroit stations all the way out here) or satellite television (too many trees around our house) and refuse to pay the devil-that-is-Comcast for cable, viewing options are limited. Granted, a handful of TV shows are available for viewing -- either free on the network websites or for purchase through services like iTunes -- but the pickings are pretty slim. And, yes, one could -- hypothetically speaking -- master the complicated world of bit torrents and download illegal copies of network TV shows, arguing (albeit weakly) that the moral breech is justifiable given these shows use the free public airwaves and it's not OUR fault we can't get any reception with said airwaves even after working our way through a frustrating and increasingly expensive series of antennae.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

The plus side is that since there's nothing on the TV to watch but fuzz, I don't just turn it on and waste away a snowy day on the couch. (Well, I waste it away, but not watching TV.) I have a Netflix account, although I'm beginning to wonder if it's worth it and, besides, it doesn't do you much good if you're suddenly in the mood to watch a dumb romantic comedy and you've had a copy of Munich sitting on your coffee table for three weeks.

Enter Vongo, a brand new service that lets you download and watch movies online. I just signed up for the free 14-day period. After that, it's $9.99 a month. Here's how it works -- you peruse their movie supply, click on the one you want to download, schedule a time to download it and it adds it to your library. You can watch it as it downloads, pause it like a DVD, etc. and you can watch it as many times as you like before it expires -- the ones I've looked at expire anywhere from a month to a few months after download.

Sounds like a brilliant idea? Here's the problem I'm running into -- Vongo, which is brought to us by the Starz movie channel, has a relatively limited number of movies available at any given time. They say there are 2200 available but I'd say a small portion of those are of interest to me. I suppose the content will rotate as movies appear to be licensed to Vongo for distribution for limited periods of time. There are a lot of movies on there that seem like real duds and mostly older ones at that.

On the other hand, I'm finding it useful for watching movies I've already seen but haven't watched in years (Wings of the Dove, The English Patient, etc.) which is precisely the kind of viewing I like on said snowy, lazy days, when I just want something lovely to keep me busy. I've already watched five or six movies, including a few indies that I'd been curious about but never rented, and I suppose that's worth the $9.99 price tag alone. (You can also order some "premium" pay-per-view movies for $3.99 each.)

You have to watch the movies on your computer, I suppose, unless you've got an S-cable hookup and can play laptop movies on your TV. I have no problem watching my laptop which, when propped on my coffee table or my lap, is far closer than my TV. You also have to watch your space, since each movie seems to take up a huge amount of space on your hard drive. Fortunately, you can delete them from your library as soon as you're finished watching them.

Obviously, the jury's still out on this Vongo service, although I will go on record saying I think it's a terrible, terrible name. I think I'll keep it for another month or so and keep my eyes peeled for Netflix's coming service that will let you watch their movies online. I'll keep you posted because I know you're as fascinated as I am.

Oh! And speaking of my technological dabblings, I finally got set up with Skype. If you're not familiar with Skype, it's an internet-based phone service that lets you make free calls via your computer to any other Skype user in the world -- all you need is a microphone and/or headset. (You can get a decent one for about $20.) Plus, we're thinking of ditching the long distance service on our landline and paying the $14/year that allows us to make unlimited long distance calls from Skype to any land phone in the US. And their international rate for calling a landline phone is just two cents a minute, which is less than we're paying now. Yay, savings!

I actually got an account a while ago but didn't get the headset set up until this week. Looking forward to chatting for free with other Skype members, especially my friends overseas! So if you're a Skyper, let me know and we'll be new best friends and talk all day, every day.